


Love Bug

by eclipse_incarnate



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, I suck at titles, M/M, Sick Niall, Sick Zayn, finally wrote a fic in past tense woo, idk comfort bc sick, this happened in sweden, too many mentions/descriptions of zayn smiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eclipse_incarnate/pseuds/eclipse_incarnate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall had always been crushing on Zayn; liked the way his smile formed and his voice sang to his ears. Then, Niall got sick but he's not alone, Zayn was there. Zayn was all for taking care of Niall until Zayn did something and the sick boy was left confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Bug

**Author's Note:**

> the summary suck i know... and idek what was this until i finished writing this 10k worded-fic

It’s Thursday, sun shining above the balcony’s hotel, glistening over Niall’s rather pale skin. The strands of his hair frizzing up a little due to the heat and no hair products used on it. He rarely styled it. It’s kind of a hassle—a thing he couldn’t be bother with. He’s wearing a plain white tee under a violet vest hoodie, strings unevenly out.

They were in the hotel’s balcony in Sweden. It was rather cold up out on the terrace, even with the sun out in the sky, making him shiver down to his spine. The wind was also strong, blowing up his hair in all directions, the bangs of his getting into his eyes. He recollected it over and over though, which was tiring if you ask him. It’s not as nice as Harry’s hair, even though big and all waves, still managed to look striking with it. He should have put on a cap or a beanie, to hide the hideous state of his blond locks—he reminded himself next time they come up here.

It was not what the fans below thought though. The fans always thought he’s beautiful and cute and hot every single day. It’s a nice compliment from them but looking on what he looked like right now, he couldn’t really agree with them.

The boys with him on the bridge weren’t any different either. He could see Louis’ natural fringe flying over his head, showing his not-so-small-but-not-so-big forehead. He’s whispering to Liam, pinching his nipple after, which he returned with a glare.

Liam looked nothing different than usual, his hair perfectly covered by a snap back. Though, the wind began to catch up on its speed and before he got a hold of it, the harsh breeze of air sent the cap flying, dropping down to the horde of fans below, who started to reach for it. A girl with blonde hair and tan skin, who’s wearing a polka-dotted cropped top and jeans, grabbed it sharply, tightening her hold on it.

Liam waved at her, an assurance that it’s okay and made her have it. The girl responded with a squeal along with what looked like her group of friends. Liam looked nothing near bad, except for his sleepy state (you can tell it with how his eyes were) and his now slightly messy hair. It’s short so it’s unnoticeable, unlike his.

Niall went his attention back to the fans, waving his hand repeatedly and seeing different types of people below. He could see someone wearing a “Mrs. Horan” shirt and the one next to her was eating a donut and holding a sparkly bag, who he figured was her father and the bag was his daughter’s. He and the father made eye contact, the other giving him a protective stare which Niall found creepy. His eyes scattered through the fans again, just to keep them out of the father’s sight.

Harry was on his side and he whispered something to his ear, but he couldn’t hear what he’s saying due to the harshness of the wind. He was laughing and Niall follows his finger and saw a girl wearing what seems to be a onesie—a One Direction one, of course—with a gold belt and hoop earrings, which he tried to steady his laugh at but failed miserably.  
The girl seemed to see them and tried to motion her hand at them while keeping a big grin, excited she got noticed. He tried to send a smile back and Harry made a smiling conversation with her, if that’s even possible. Harry slid out of his side after, moving next to Louis, whispering probably the same thing because the girl had a leaf stuck on her hair, which he laughed at also.

He turned to his left and saw Zayn, unlike him, had his hair in a beanie. He smiled at Niall, not the smile he did in front of the camera—with his tongue in between his teeth and lips formed in a crooked way, which is adorable if you ask him. It’s a wide smile that he rarely did, showing most of his teeth, the curve of his lips stretched and the crinkles by the sides of his eyes more visible. Sometimes that smile gets recorded or captured by a camera, which was Zayn was not aware of but Niall is. Zayn didn’t do it very much, but when he did, Niall’s heart fluttered every time like the wings of a butterfly.

“Did you see that girl?” Zayn giggled off the remains of his laughter. Niall sent him a confused look for a second before he remembered the girl with a weird fashion taste and gave him smile and nodded in response.

Their bodyguard Paul gestured for them that it’s time to leave and go to the studio. Zayn started the lead, Niall following to his side and the rest of the boys at their tails. Niall had his hands in the pockets of his pants but removed one of it quickly to fix the dishevelled state of his hair. Niall stopped to look at the car’s window—enough for Niall to use as a mirror.

He adjusted the mess of a blond hair he had, trying to make it look pleasing in the eyes of others. Zayn stopped in front him—stopped his hand and moves his own tanned one over his bangs, collecting it atop his hair.

“There. Your hair looks better pushed back.” He smiled at him again, but this time, it’s his favourite smile of his. The tongue was in between his teeth, the tip of it curled inside. It’s the usual if you ask the others but it’s not—for Niall, it’s different. The laugh lines by his eyes and mouth outlined than usual, his cheeks and jaw more prominent. The invisible vibrancy of Zayn’s smile radiating to Niall and he couldn’t help but grin in return. 

He saw the three boys walking past them, entering the car, snickering and giggling with a side of squealing. He caught Louis mouth _Good job, Nialler_ and gave him a thumbs up. Harry made a kissy face and Liam cast him a pout and sad eyebrows, letting him know he’s sorry for the behavior of the two but he knew he’s mocking him too. He knew sarcasm when he got it.

Zayn turned his back to him and got in the van like nothing happened. Niall bit his lip, felt the rush of blood on his face and neck and _tried_ to tone it down. It finally vanished when suddenly a heavy pour of rain fell down from the now gray skies. It was all sun earlier and now it’s raining; it reminded him of London. He entered the car and found a seat—coincidentally he plopped down next to Zayn.

“You’re wet.” Zayn stated like it’s not the obvious.

“It’s okay.” Niall ran a hand through the _messier_ look of his hair. It probably looked worse than what it looked like back on the balcony. He sneezed and noticed Zayn was pocketing through his jeans, finding something. _Phone? Cigarettes? Keys?_ It’s neither of those he figured out when Zayn handed him his handkerchief.

“Here. Take this.”  
Niall thankfully took the piece of fabric from Zayn and brought it around his nose, blowing down it as gently as possible.

“Thanks.” He smiled and Zayn gave him a small smile in return, tiny wrinkles from the side of his eyes showings, before looking at the window.

“And sorry for your handkerchief.” Zayn laughed this time, every line on his face visible and Niall thought it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Niall,” said Zayn, his voice had hints of chuckles.

“Yes?”

“Fix your hair.”  


—

They arrived outside the recording studio’s building and the rain was now out of sight. It’s one of those quick heavy downfalls—Niall assumed. The sun was up in the sky, brighter than ever before, white clouds scattering all over the now blue sky.

Outside more fans waited for them, screaming their names until their throats hoarse. Tears of excitement and joy rolled down their respective cheeks. They look tired and their energies drained but that didn't matter to them, seeing their “idols” and all. Niall felt sympathy for their efforts; he couldn’t even stop for them because of security and he thought he might sneeze at them.

Startled, he saw Zayn running from one of the bodyguards, rushing to the weary fans on the other side of the street. He was smiling at them and taking notebooks and papers and other materials he could sign his autograph on. He’s talking now, his chapped lips pink and wet between the licks he casually did with them.

After taking some pictures with fans, he said his goodbye and jogged near Niall—hearing a scold from one of the bodyguards, which he rolled his eyes to— and now walking side by side with Niall.

Niall could feel the heat on his cheeks like fire was inside of them, and melting his insides along the way. He felt Zayn’s shoulder bumping to him, saying something about some great restaurant he heard from a friend. Though, Niall wasn’t paying attention to what he’s saying—which was not like him at all, food and Zayn were his favourite things after all. He’s too afraid to even look directly at Zayn, with his flushed cheeks and his state and everything he felt in between.

He didn’t notice when they entered inside of the recording studio, the sound engineer motioning for them to come in. Niall could see the shadows under his eyes were evident, knowing he’s been working hard as they do. He shrugged the greetings from the five of them—except maybe giving a small wave that is so faintly given that only Niall seemed to notice it—and went to sit down the chair in front of the soundboard. Niall smiled at him before he went working with the buttons of the thing.

The control room was quite a large space—there were two armchairs, a sofa and a small coffee table inside, not only the mixing console and some equipment used, which was rare for a studio. Harry and Liam sat down on the single armchairs while Louis sprawled over the left end of the only couple sofa. Niall sat next to him and Zayn went for the wooden chair near Liam that Niall didn’t notice when they came in.

“Kyle will be here in a minute, got caught up in a meeting or something.” The sound engineer—who Niall could remember him as Johnny—said from his seat, not daring to look up at them. Kyle was the producer of the album. He always tried to go to all of the recordings, to give criticism if possible and just see what they do in general. He’s good at what he did though, knowing if the recordings were cut for the album or not, even though Johnny could handle them on his own.

Kyle entered after that, which was weird if you asked Niall—but the sooner the better. He found it interesting because both Kyle and Johnny were wearing leather jackets and a white tee. He sometimes thought that they’re twins but their faces weren’t really similar in anyway.

Kyle talked to the boys, something about how the music will go and stuff. Niall couldn’t understand anything if he’s honest and the slight headache he’s having wasn’t helping. He knew what he’s doing anyway; it’s been three years and running, and he’s sure that Kyle said the same things over and over.

He knew and _understood_ the song they’re recording today though; he heard the song before any of the boys—he co-wrote it, of course he heard it. It’s slow, beautiful and very pleasing to the ears, the lyrics and melody of it very captivating, he’s sure of it, it’s _special_ to him.  
“Zayn, you go in first, yeah?” Kyle signalled Zayn into the isolation booth—where the recording happens. It’s all soundproofed and had a window glass between two rooms. There’s microphone and lyrics sheet in the middle. There was also a pair of headphones, to hear what they sound like when singing.

“Haven’t seen you guys in these past, what? Three days? How’ve you been?” Louis asked—as Zayn went into the booth—to no one in particular but clearly asking all of them, well, except for the sound engineer and the producer and Zayn.

No one seemed to reply to Louis in that. Harry was playing some app with his phone, and Liam seemed to be busy with his phone too, probably texting his mother or his girlfriend. Niall didn’t answer as well, because he’s too busy staring at Zayn.

It’s a problem really—staring at Zayn that is. It’s just—Zayn. With his perfect bone-structure and lashes and great hair, he couldn’t look at away, ever, especially when he’s not aware of Niall’s presence. He noticed Zayn wasn’t wearing his beanie anymore, now placed on the chair Zayn was seated on earlier.

Though, Zayn was aware this time because he shot a smile at Niall and the blond might just melt like butter if he kept giving him one of his smiles. Zayn rarely smiled and it’s overwhelming when he did. Niall was already feeling a lot better from that, or maybe that’s just Zayn’s effect on him. It’s gone though, because Zayn wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, or maybe he was smiling at the whole band too, not only at him.

Zayn grabbed for the headphones and put it over his head and readjusting the microphone in front of him a little bit. Johnny cues him to start—

He's there, eyes closed and singing quite naturally, his voice sweet to Niall’s ears, like caramel and chocolate blending together—

Zayn’s voice was absolutely more than that. His voice was a perfect example of a Utopia. Except Zayn’s voice was not tangible, well Utopia wasn’t either but it could be drawn on a sheet of paper and Zayn’s voice couldn’t be expressed in anyway—except singing with it.

He was singing on the top of his lungs right now, perfectly delivering his vocal abilities to the song needed to give it justice. Niall was just there staring at him in awe, witnessing Zayn's beautiful voice from the speakers, working with the song first hand.

It’s not just his voice but how he _looked_ when he sang. His eyes closed and lashes down to his cheeks, swooping down like waves of the ocean; his hair down, soft like a kitten’s fur; his jaw sharp like the edges of a mahogany desk near him; his cheekbones prominent like nothing ever before, like sculpted marble on a museum.

His whole face was defined to perfection and in the same time—it’s so soft and beautiful and pure like an angel coming down from the heavens. His voice _could_ even bring down one of the angels from heaven; well maybe Niall was exaggerating now.

His thoughts snapped out suddenly and he didn’t know why—or how. He noticed someone’s nudging his side and he turned to his left to found Louis, smirking at him, eyebrows bouncing—finally stopping hitting his side. Niall rolled his eyes at him.

“When are you gonna tell him? It’s been too long Niall.” Louis said to him, voice hint with mockery and boredom.

“I don’t know Lou, quit bugging me about it.” Niall stood from his seat, touching the wall for an unknown reason. His fingers find a framed picture giraffe on the wall—a giraffe?

It’s been too long when he began to feel the heat inside his cheeks and the hard thumping of his heart and the blissful thoughts on his mind whenever he’s with Zayn.

Niall paused to sneeze—receiving a look of disgust from the other boy. “You can’t go on with crushing on him, Niall. You either tell him and move on or tell him and be with him. It’s not healthy.”

Louis stared at him staring at the giraffe. It’s quite a photograph. The more he looked at it; he noticed it’s more of a painting. The brown spots of the animal, throughout his four legs, neck and head, were odd in shape but interesting. It used its rather long neck, reaching up to the leaves of the tree, about to grab the leaves with its teeth. The tree reminded him of that girl with the crazy outfit, leaf stuck in her hair—

“I know,” his voice sounded tired and weak. He hasn’t been sleeping very much lately, even on a break from tour and now he felt sick. “You remind me every day.”

He gave up on the image of the giraffe, sat back down the sofa, arms crossed. He sniffled for a second, staring at Zayn again and muttered, “I know.”

Liam stared at him. “You don’t look good Niall maybe you should—“

Before he could finish, Zayn came out the booth's door, stretching his arms on the way. Niall averted his eyes quick, like a kid caught cheating on a math test.

“Good job.” Kyle whispered and patted Zayn’s back. Zayn returned it with a sheepish grin, scratching his arm at the same time.

Niall closed his eyes, nervous he knew he’s going next. Why was he nervous? He didn’t know. He was usually excited over this kind of stuff, singing and recording music and getting lost in his whole little world inside the soundproofed walls of the room he’s about to enter. Before he could finish his thoughts, someone stepped in front of Niall, and in instinct he startled, reaching his heart with his palm. He breathed when he realized who it is.

“Woah! Are you okay, Niall?” said Zayn, eyes and voice full of concern. He was about to open his mouth again when Niall straightens up from his seat; _keep it together Horan,_ he reminded himself. 

“Yeah.”

“Niall?” Niall knew Kyle was indicating for him to go inside the isolation booth. He nodded, headache making his head spin, and ever slowly walked to the door. The door knob was cold against his touch; a shiver ran down his spine. He sighed and opened the door. As he advanced in, he shut the door immediately, taking the familiar yet foreign scent of the room.

He guided himself to the center and settled his feet down, trying to compose himself. He remained still, feeling like if he moved another limb, he’s going to throw up. He wanted to sit down, back at the other room, back at the hotel—back at home.

He put on the headphones down his head, removing one of the end speakers off his right ear, wanting only one of it. Both Kyle and Johnny gave him a thumb up, signalling for him to start. He started to sing, opening his mouth and singing along with the melody. It’s kind of raspy and his nose was clogged with mucus. _Fuck_ , he thought to himself. He sounded _awful_. He tried to reject his body overcoming his senses, trying not to sneeze. He failed. His voice sounded like a sick patient at a hospital. This was getting worse than he thought.

The music stopped and so did his voice, a natural reaction for a singer like him. He coughed and sneezed, covering his face with his pale hands, rubbing off the excess snot off his nose and padding them to the side of shirt and sweatpants. Not only because of his body’s condition, but also in shame. He sees Zayn and the others, giving him puzzled and concerned looks. He’s supposed to be a professional and getting sick was not in the book of being one.

“Niall,” Kyle called him back to his attention, “maybe you should get back at the hotel and rest.”

Niall hesitated but gave in. He knew he wanted to be working, knew that he should continue but the state of his immune system right now was telling him otherwise. With a sigh, he got out of the booth, ignored Kyle’s attempt to pat him in the back and headed to the front of the wooden door. He turned to the other boys—their eyes a little wide and eyebrows up.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel?” He smiled weakly at them and—laughed. The other boys seemed to acknowledge his laugh because he got wide grins and nodded in return, making Niall smile more. This looked more dramatic than he thought.

Ignoring the screams and shouts of teenage girls opposite of the street, he ordered the person in the driver’s seat:

“Get me home—I mean, at the hotel. I feel sick.” The driver stared at him, doubting that he should do what he’s been ordered. He shrugged and without a question, the driver started the engine, wheels rough on the concrete dirt of the road, and drove off the lot. Niall felt like he’s going to throw up.

—

He woke up in his bedroom, sunlight seeping through the white curtains, walls warm with its heat. But Niall—Niall didn’t feel the warmth, except for his overheating body. He felt cold and weak; groggy and weary. He didn’t remember getting to his hotel room and getting to bed. Though, he could recall throwing up at the lobby, which without a doubt the most disgusting thing he has ever done publicly. He tried to sit up, the palms of his hand pushing the mattress forward for support. It’s the worst case scenario of—

He didn’t say it. He hadn’t had any symptoms or diseases for how many consecutive years and he wanted to keep it that way, but he knew he couldn’t. He already had it— _a cold._ He felt beaten, eyes puffy and nose running. He _needed_ tissues. He collected himself, waking up his sleepless body. He finally stood up, knees wobbling for something to sit still. He fought it and headed for the bathroom.

He opened one of the cabinets, and found a roll of tissue. He would prefer the ones in those boxes, the soft tissue papers already separated but the one he’s holding will do. He looked in the mirror for a second—seeing the fatigue in his eyes, face pale and looking sick before he stepped out the room.

He stood still, knees still shaking—his whole body was shaking, from the coldness he’s experiencing.

Standing there opposite of him was Zayn, with a box of tissues in his hands. “Hey, I brought you tissues…”

He paced forward, and Zayn rushed to his side, shoulders bumping, and his hand on his other shoulder. “Hey, let me.”

He let him. He ought to refuse but he can’t. Zayn guided him to his bed, like an elderly woman crossing a busy street. He lay down the bed, feeling the comfortable softness of the pillows, blankets and the mattress around him. Zayn sat at the foot of the bed, one hand on the thing and the other holding the box of tissues. He passed the square compartment to him.

 _Thankfully,_ Niall placed the roll of tissue down the desk beside him and grasped the tissue box out of Zayn’s hands. Their fingers brushed and Niall felt a jolt of electricity from the tip of his fingers to the rest of his body, heat of the current rising and flowing.

He realized the heat wasn’t coming from his metaphoric mind but instead from the cold he’s having. He snatched a pair of tissues off the box, letting the snot out of his nose, gently and breathed in a lungful of air as he carefully rested his body into the soft hotel bed.

“I feel bad.”

“I know, that’s why I brought you soup.” Zayn rose to his feet and brought himself close to a table. Reaching down and turning around, Niall saw him bringing a bowl of what he assumed soup and experienced a twist in his heart, a twist of ribbons and strings, creating beautiful knots and ties. _Why was Zayn doing this?_

“I feel bad,” said Niall again.

“I know that,” he saw a spoon full of creamy texture, with some chopped vegetables and chicken in front of him. “Open up.”

“No, I mean I feel bad,” he took the spoon into his mouth, feeling the warmth of the soup pleasing in his throat and stomach, “you taking care of me or whatever this is.”

“Well I always said you’re like a little brother I never had who needs protecting.” Zayn informed him, pulling the spoon down to the bowl. _Brother,_ at the word, Niall felt like a pair of scissors was reaching through his heart, ripping the knots and ties, cutting it apart and open. He brushed his thoughts aside.

“This isn’t exactly ‘protecting’ me.” Niall said matter-of-factly. Zayn smiled at him, scooping a spoonful from the soup again.

“Well I’m trying to save you now—from the cold anyway. So it’s kind of ‘protecting’ you.” Niall opened his mouth, taking in the hot contents of the dish inside him. He smiled at him, grateful, and Zayn grinned in return. He already felt a little better.

—

“I don’t get it though, I mean—“ by himself, Niall takes the last bits of the soup—it’s chicken, he had found out. The warm liquid swooping down his throat, down to his stomach gave him a new sense of energy, though, he still felt sick but—better. Wiping some of the left over broth from his mouth, he picked himself up, sitting straight, back on the wooden headboard. It appeared cool to his back.

Zayn took the paper bowl out of his hands, fingers brushing again. Sometimes, Niall wanted more than a bristle of their fingertips; he wanted to stroke it, down to the palms of his hands and held his hand. But he knew it’ll never happen. Instead, he smiled sheepishly at him, resisting the urge of his lips to curl into a grin.

Failing on the before attempt, Zayn turned to him, responding to his beaming smile with the same one. “Better?”

Niall nodded and before he could say anything else, Zayn put his hand on his forehead—probably feeling the heat inside his body. “I don’t have any thermometer with me—and I assume you don’t have one either—but I think you have a cold, seeing you sneezing and everything.”

And on cue, “can you pass me the tissue?” said Niall. He blew his nose, quite gently and roughly at the same time. Coughs, hard coughs came in after the sneeze, his throat slightly reacting with pain. He’s glad that Zayn didn't know what happened back in the lobby.

“Paul said you throw up at the lobby? Is that true?” Zayn said, lips curling and eyebrow arching up and the other down, mocking him.

“Shut up.” They both laughed faintly, letting the subject aside.

“Do you want to go to a doctor?” Zayn asked him, eyes worrying and the previous expression completely gone. Niall didn’t speak, like no words can escape his mouth, tongue and lips now dry even after just eating.

“No?” Niall answered with a nod. Zayn smiled at him, removing the fallen blond hair from his face, his fingertips rubbing his head in times. Gently, he pushed it over his head, revealing his forehead, feeling the sweat cool on it as it met the breeze of air in the room.

“Your hair looks better pushed back.” Zayn laughed and Niall felt like in heaven with an angel Zayn taking care of him.

—

Zayn was sleeping on the couch, light snores coming from his mouth. Niall had tried to protest earlier, that he didn’t need this attention from him, taking care of him like a little baby. After numerous objections from Zayn, he suggested for Niall to rest his sick body, pulling the blankets on to his chest after.

Now awake, he stared at Zayn, body sprawled over the sofa, chin on his shoulder. His hands were on his sides, the left one dangling over the cushions. Feet hitting the arm of the couch, legs bent acutely. He looked peaceful, his face younger and softer than ever before. Niall almost wanted to go for him, cuddle with him while he’s asleep. He must have sensed Niall’s eyes on him because slowly, he opened his own, a mix of worrisome and relief on them.

“Did you have a good sleep?” He stretched his arms and legs, his top loosely joining. Niall could see the trail of hair and the sculpture of his pelvic muscles on the revealed skin. He averted his eyes as soon as Zayn got up, yawning away the sleep. He walked over to the sick boy on the bed, smile appearing on his face.

His stomach grumbled. It looked like his appetite was still the same even in his condition.

“It’s evening. You want more soup or…?” He didn't even notice it’s evening until Zayn brought it up. From his bed, he peaked over the side of the closed curtains, a faint blue darkness sneaking in, indicating the night sky. He went back to facing Zayn and grinned.

“Soup is good.”

—

“So? Your birthday is tomorrow, what are you gonna do?” Zayn asked him, cooling down the soup with the blow from his lips, grabbing a spoonful of the liquid towards Niall and he sipped it in. The warm liquid slowly leading his hunger away, chops of vegetables and chicken—yes it’s chicken soup again—filling the stomach of his.

Zayn had insisted on feeding Niall, reasoning it’s best for him to rest and lie down and not move a muscle. Though, Niall had wanted to go against the idea, feeling like he’s making Zayn a nurse doing his own needs, he couldn't—he wanted Zayn to take care of him. He liked the flattering feeling in his gut whenever Zayn showed his concern.

“Well, I can’t just fly back and celebrate while I’m sick like this. I don’t know.” Niall frowned, raising a hand when Zayn gave him another spoonful. He thought about his parents, worrying over him. He had called them earlier, making sure that he’s okay and getting better already. He had hesitated, but mentioned that Zayn was tending to his every need. Maura had cooed at him—which he’s glad that Zayn didn't hear—and muttered a goodbye to his mother as Zayn had brought his soup.

Now, Zayn was looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and said: “You’re not hungry anymore? You should eat you know because—“

“No, I’m just thinking,” Niall interrupted him. He didn't know if it’s true but he could see a tinge of scarlet appearing on Zayn’s cheeks but it seemed to disappear quickly.  
“Give me some more of that soup.” He smiled.

He finished the soup, like last time, holding in down to his throat, swallowing all of the contents the soup couldn't reach with a spoon. He burped afterwards and looked at Zayn, whose smile slowly widened and burst into laughter. He did too. He could get used to this, Zayn laughing and smiling and taking care of him. Maybe he should get sick more often. Maybe not.

“Hold on.” Zayn said and went for the door. Niall guessed he wanted to leave, he must be annoyed with him now but he didn't leave him. He noticed Zayn coming back, a basin and a towel in his hand. He had seen them when he returned from getting the chicken soup but he didn’t get the opportunity to ask. He‘s about to open his mouth, ask him what Zayn was doing with them but he cut him—

“You’re probably wondering why I have these?” Niall nodded in response, the other still clutching on the two things. Zayn smiled at him as he heads to the bathroom door. He came back later, setting the basin of water down the carpet floor, beside the bed.

“It’s cold water, to clean you. You’re sick and you won’t probably have the energy to have a shower. My mum used to do it when I was a kid whenever I got sick.” He explained. Zayn dipped the plain white towel down the water, the clear liquid seeping through. He twisted the cloth, getting rid of the excess water.

“Take off your shirt.” Zayn ordered him. Niall followed on cue with no further questions. He couldn't even open his mouth; he seemed hot, hotter than before, like a wave of heat surrounded the room. His pale skin exposed, he felt he can breathe and can’t inhale air in the same time.

Zayn inched closer, towel in hand. He rubbed the wet cloth over him; from his arms and chest and stomach. He plunged the almost dry towel in the water and repeated the same procedure earlier. Suddenly, he removed the blanket covering Niall, displaying his rather skinny legs. Niall could feel a rush of heat—if it’s even possible—and humiliation all over his body as he realized he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, which a pattern of ducks are all over.

Niall heard Zayn gulp, so faint that even he’s surprised he heard it, probably holding down a laugh and something else Niall couldn't see. Slowly, Zayn stroked—with the towel—both of his thighs and legs and then finally his feet. It tickled but he doesn't show it. Zayn folded himself up after, clearing his throat.

“I have to go,” Zayn said and Niall felt a slight disappoint in the pit of his stomach. He _didn't_ want him to go, out of his sight. But, he wanted for him to—to get some rest, eat a meal, and have a better evening than stay with him, all sick and gross. Zayn seemed to notice what he’s thinking about because he dropped the towel in the basin and reaches down him. He cupped his cheeks, feeling the coldness of his hand on his hot, flushed cheeks.

“I’ll be back, just gonna get changed. I’ll sleep with you.” Zayn assured him; his eyes have a glint of something in them that Niall couldn't read.

“You’ll sleep with me?” Niall glanced up at Zayn, and appeared to stiffen but it broke with a genuine smile of his.

“Yes—I mean no,” he breathed out a lungful of air, “I mean I’ll stay with you tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He grinned, reassuring.

“Oh.” Niall could only respond and before he said anything, Zayn went down to touch his lips with his own, feeling the foreign heat to his own one, rising and rising quickly like a kettle of water above a fired-up stove. It lasted quickly before Zayn backed away and gave a gasp—the noise terrifying between his hot ears.

“Uh—I’ll go, um... I’ll be back.” Zayn stuttered and gave him a crooked smile. Was he embarrassed? Anyone who should be showing that kind of emotion was him because Zayn just kissed and—he’s sick.

 _He’s sick,_ he realized immediately and before he could say anything to Zayn—say something. He’s gone, the hotel door shut. Later, he heard footsteps, low and slowly fainting, guessing Zayn had stand there for a few seconds before he left.

He remembered the not-so-long-ago kiss, how his lips had lingered against his. He had felt sparks igniting inside his heart, so fueled and alive and going everywhere. Zayn had _kissed_ him—kissed on the lips. It was strange and foreign but he had liked it, like seeing the world again, alien but beautiful. The deeper you went into the world, the more stunning it was. But the kiss, it wasn't deep, wasn't fierce or anything wild. It was small and lasted quickly but Niall felt the heat, like fire burning down a wooden house.

He broke his thoughts to check on his phone. It’s been forty minutes since Zayn left. He sighs and slid into the bed duvets, feeling the soft cotton and smell of something that hotels made their pillow, blankets and bed covers with. He was drooping back to sleep and he heard something—

He heard a knock on the door and his head whirled. It hurt because of his headache. The door gradually opens and a head popped in, crazily smiling at him.

It’s not Zayn.

It’s Louis.

Behind him were Liam and Harry, the curly-haired boy holding a bag of something—fruits he noticed. Louis had a grip on a bottle of medicine and tablets.

“Can’t believe they let you stay inside a hotel, even when you’re sick.” Louis said walking near him.

“Liquid or solid?” The boy asked him, holding out the two set of items from different hands. He looked at Niall, waiting for his answer.

“I guess management got that covered ...and liquid, I guess.”

“You’re not a kid anymore, so you’re getting tabs.” Louis put the bottles of medicine—cough and something for his cold he observed from his bed. He snatched a bottle of water from the plastic bag Harry was holding and set it down by the nightstand along with the tablets of medicine.

“Then why did you make me choose? Better yet why did you even buy them?” Louis shrugged and sat down the sofa away from him. Liam dropped down where Zayn did earlier and Harry stood in the middle of the room.

Harry eyed him, bringing the bag of fruits on a table near him. “Zayn called me you’re sick and you need someone to take care of you because you don’t want to go to the doctors but Niall—“

“Wait, Zayn said that?” Niall asked, both in confusion and disappointment. He didn’t even see Harry nod and Liam’s eyes looking at him in puzzlement. He could feel Louis’ smirked from a few feet away—always could sense it.

 _Why Zayn had done that? Was it because of the kiss?_ He asked himself, his head was hurting and spinning. He tried to brush his thoughts away, but he knew his heart thought differently.

“Zayn would probably not like this for you right now, but,” Louis chimed from the couch, “do you wanna play Fifa?”

They played Fifa, but only for a few minutes. Niall started to get tired and headache kicked in much than before. Louis continued to kick his ass in the game but gave up when he realized it was no fun playing without an opponent. Harry and Liam declined the offer to be one.

Niall went back to laying down, feeling his back collide with the cool mattress. He sighed in defeat—in defeat of everything: getting better, Fifa …and his feelings for Zayn. Maybe Zayn knew—maybe that was it. He felt sorry and pity on him that’s why he kissed him, just to make him better. It did make him better but only for a moment, because he didn’t come back after that. Not in the greatest condition for him to say a thing, he blurted out:

“Did you tell about Zayn about my, you know,” Niall stopped himself, not wanting to make a fool of himself, although, he already did.

Liam butted in, “Your what? Your, um, feeling for…”

“Zayn.” Louis blurted and Niall gave him a look but he was thankful anyway. He nodded and averted his gaze down the cream carpet floor. The basin was still there.

“Why? Why ask that? You know we won’t do that?” Harry questioned him and Niall felt hot again.

“Because he kissed me, like an hour ago.” Niall hesitated but he finally let it out. He could feel eyes gawking at him and jaws dropped like it’s the biggest thing that happened in the world, like he just got stabbed in the chest.

“He did what?” Louis exclaimed questioningly, eyes wide and lips curling into a grin. “Isn’t it great, though, like why are you sad about it?”

“How do you know I’m sad about it?” Niall asked, although, it was true.

“Because, you finally got something you wanted for so long and you didn't seem to be,” he paused, “happy about it. Excited even.”

“I am—was.” He muttered under his breathe, it was so faintly audible he didn't even know if they heard him. “It’s just …he left and then sent you guys over here. I don’t understand that he—“

“So, you hate us? Is that it?” Harry said playfully, dimples appearing from both sides. He knew he was joking.

“No, let me finish,” Niall inhales and exhales, preparing himself for he didn't even know needed preparing.

“When he kissed me, he looked startled but then he _said_ to me he’ll back, he said he’s just going to change clothes. Then, it’s been over forty minutes and he still hadn’t, so I thought he’s avoiding me or something. Then when I heard the door, I thought it was gonna be him and—“

“It’s not him. It’s us.” Liam said with a small smile planted on his face. Niall nodded and took the medicine from the desk beside him. Popping the few tablets down his tongue, he grasped the water bottle, opened it and drank it, pushing the medicine down to his stomach. It tasted bitter and he thought he might throw it up, could feel bile rising from his throat. He decided against it and swallowed the thing back in.

Louis made a disgusted noise, “What are you gonna do?”

Niall didn't know what do. What even was he supposed to do? Obviously, Zayn was avoiding him, because let’s face it; he kissed a boy—not only any boy but a boy who has feelings for him. He sighs dramatically.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s deal with this when you get better. I’ll talk to Zayn and—“

“No!” Niall screamed and Louis was taken aback, as well for the others. He knew he sounded ridiculous for his reaction but seriously, he didn’t want any talking with Zayn with the others about this. He wanted to talk to him himself yet he didn't know how or when.

“Okay,” Harry started, “we won’t tell, but you better do it soon, Horan. This could affect everything.” The boys said, sounding all fatherly at him.

“We better go. Get some rest.” Liam looked him in the eyes. He settled out of the bed and stretched his rather muscular arms and yawned. “I need one too.”

Liam smiled and ruffled his blond hair, messing it up even more, then moved to door and opened it gently. Harry followed while looking at him, his eyes saying that he should take his advice. He should but didn't know how, he nodded instead and the boy shifted his head and walked out the door. Louis left last, smiling. He didn't get why the other blue-eyed boy was smiling at him, but he could tell it’s not sarcasm and it felt good, it’s comforting.

As soon as the others left the room, he turned the lights off from near the door—they should have turned it off when they got out, he thought—which was hassle because of his now minor headache. Lastly, he switched off the lamp beside his bed and slumped down the bed covers and rested his eyes. He had done a lot of sleeping today, were his last thoughts before he drifted into sleep.

—

For the next three days, Zayn didn't come, neither texted nor called. Niall wanted to make the move, to talk about the thing that happened but he couldn't get to. Every time he reached for his phone, he sighed and thought about the kiss every moment.

Louis, Harry and Liam were there, (not including the occasional visits of the hotel maids) taking care of him and Zayn wasn't in his sight for those days. The recording schedule had been moved, though, the others still went to those, except for him and he didn't know about Zayn. It’s so weird for him because he’s in a hotel, instead of having fun or working, he’s in bed, moping and not being in the greatest condition.

His birthday passed and it didn't feel like a blast. It was a regular day, though, Louis bought chocolate cake and Harry got pizza and Liam gave him some antique Swedish figurine. Zayn didn't even dare to call or text or see him that day and it’s so heart-breaking and disappointing he wanted to die—he already felt like dying, from the fever and sneezing and coughing and sometimes vomiting.

He didn't even get any of that good chicken soup Zayn used to get him on the first day of him being sick after what happened. He really wanted to see Zayn but Louis refused him to, said it’s for the best.

He tried to sneak out one night, just see him—talk to him—but he saw Louis standing in front of his hotel room, holding a bowl of chicken soup, and with him was Liam clutching and a bag of ice, while Harry had asked: “Where are you going?”

“To Zayn’s room.” He said firmly, and then coughed, losing his composure. He heard Harry snort and gave him a look, to his surprise, he laughed and patted him in the shoulder and entered the room with Louis and Liam behind, leaving a wide-eyed Niall at the door.

He walked back to his bed. It was the third day and also the day after his birthday, so he’s feeling a lot better right now, so moving around wasn't much of a hassle now. His back still pained from sitting and lying down on the hotel bed for three days. Though, he still liked the bed better than standing up, so he got down on it. With the three sitting on the opposite end, his legs couldn't really stretch out, so he bent his knees awkwardly instead.

“Why were you going to Zayn’s room?” Louis started, startling Niall.

“I was gonna talk to him.” Niall said his voice meek and low.

“You can’t talk to him in your condition, you’re gonna make him sick.” Louis interjected, his eyebrows arched for a bit then he looked down at the bowl of soup in his hands.

“But—“

“No, Niall. Bad Niall. Do you want to make him sick?” he looked at him and his eyes were full of something he couldn't get, so Niall sighed.  
“No.”

“Good, eat your soup then.” He stood up, his lips tight but curled into a smile. “I’ll go somewhere.”

“Where are you going?” Niall asked, suddenly curious. He saw Liam and Harry exchanged looks but he didn't know why and he didn't care.

“Somewhere.”

He walked to the door, opened it and shut it.

He didn't know what’s going on. He didn't know what to do—except ate the soup in his hands that he didn't even remember ever getting from Louis.

—

Next day came and he felt a lot better: his body didn’t ache in pain, his head didn’t spin and his appetite seemed to be back to the usual—hungrier than ever.

Feeling the hunger kicked in after waking up, he grabbed an apple from the basket of fruits on the desk beside him, along with some grapes, oranges and peaches. He took a bite then checked the time: it’s somewhere nine in the morning. Ignoring the protests of his stomach, he rose from the bed and to his mattress on the other side of the room. He found a cream sweater and some jeans and headed towards the shower as he threw the clothes on the bed.

He removed his clothing, feeling sticky and icky all over; he stepped into the hot shower. It was so nice to get a shower rather than rubbing a wet towel on his body.

(He didn’t let the other boys did like Zayn did—allowing other people to clean his pale chest and arms and legs and face and other parts of his body except for the private one.)

As soon as he stepped out of the shower, he dried himself clean and wrapped a towel around his waist. He got out of the bathroom and picked his clothes up from the bed and put it on in order: underwear, jeans, and then the sweater. He felt great but—nervous. _What was he going to do?_

He sat down the bed, biting his nails while he thought about everything between him and Zayn. Why is he the one going there and talking to him anyway? Zayn was the one who kissed him. But he needed answers, so brushing his thoughts aside he stood up and paced towards the door and opened it absentmindedly.

He passed one of the bodyguards who asked him if he was feeling better and just nodded in response. His room and Zayn’s room was far from each other, three of the other lads in between. He crossed from Liam’s room, to Harry’s and Louis’.

He was there, in front of Zayn’s room, feeling cold all of a sudden even with wearing a sweater. He touched the cool door handle, feeling a shiver ran down his whole body, like his veins was on ice. Suddenly he couldn't move, couldn't bear to do what he needed to do. He inhaled the hotel air before to compose himself.

“This is it, now or never.” He said to himself. He turned the door handle down. It wouldn't open. _Fuck,_ he thought. He realized he forgot his spare key card for all the five rooms they’re booked in back in his room. He tried again with more force this time and nothing. He knocked on the door, banging the wooden board hard. His knuckles turned white and now in dull pain.

“Zayn, open the door, I need—I want to talk to you.” He said with plea. Though, no answer from Zayn, he tried slamming his fists again.

“Please.” He begged but nothing.

Sighing in defeat—quite not admitting it—he swung around and saw Louis, standing there, smirking up at him.

“Are you better now?” He walked to him and put the back of his hand on Niall’s forehead and neck. Niall felt a bit violated but he shrugged it and instead he nodded.

“You want to talk to him?” Louis asked even though the answer was obvious. Niall nodded again, though answered:

“Yeah.” Louis stared at him for a moment before he gently shoved Niall to the side and knocked on Zayn’s door.

“Zayn, open up; It’s me Louis. I did what you said. I bought and brought the soup to Niall. Let me in.” Louis turned to him, smirking and eyebrows bounced.

So, Zayn asked Louis to bring soup and probably asked the others to do the other things: medicines, fruits, the basin of ice cold water, watch him. The question was: _why was Zayn doing it?_

Suddenly, Niall heard footsteps on the other side of the door, moving frantically. Louis stepped off the way and gestured Niall to the front of Zayn’s hotel door. _This is it,_ he said to himself.

“Thank you again Louis I couldn't do this without your help.” Zayn’s voice was blurry but understandable and he opened the door. “Did you bring me more tissues though—“

Zayn cut himself, his hand still holding the door handle and holding a blanket around his tanned body. He realized he’s shirtless but he brushed it aside. His eyes were wide, his hazel dazed and cloudy and he looked—sick, like Niall was days ago. So, he got sick and he knew the reason why.

Niall smiled at him, so small that you couldn't see it. He noticed Louis left already, because he heard the next door shut next to him. Zayn was staring at him, still shocked. Niall notices there a drip of snot coming out of his nose.

“Um, Zayn you got a little…” Niall pointed to Zayn’s and then to his own nose, indicating the slime sliding down. He saw Zayn’s face flush a deep red before he motioned the blanket to his nose and wiped the snot off his face. He smiled weakly at him.

“Sorry.” Zayn said and a few awkward seconds later he spoke again. “I would like you to come in but as you can see I’m not doing well, so come back another time.”

He was close to shutting door when Niall stopped it with his hand. “No, I don’t care. I won’t get sick, I just recovered from one.”

“Niall—“

“No, Zayn. I want to talk about the other day.” Niall didn't know where the hell he had the courage to be like this, to be confident about confronting someone’s feelings where he hid his own feelings for so long. Zayn on the other hand, sighed deeply and beckoned for him to enter. He walked off from the door to his own bed and Niall followed on suit.

He sat on the other side of the bed, next to Zayn and kept his distance to him. The silence was unbearable, so Niall started, “Why are you sick Zayn? Care to explain?”

It’s so unlike Niall, asking _these_ types of questions to Zayn. It’s like a after getting ignored in three days he felt rage and curiosity inside him, Though, there’s no real anger inside him, he wanted to know why Zayn got sick, even though he knew the answer, he would like to hear it from Zayn himself.

Zayn didn't answer, didn't even dare to look at him. Niall felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, his could feel the rush of blood from his face, to his neck, and through his whole body. It’s like the ice in his vein before began to melt and became lava. He was eager, eager to know but he also was uneasy—uneasy about the whole thing.

“Okay,” Niall started, “so this is why you didn't come back, because you got sick? Was it because of the kiss?”

Zayn looked down at his feet and then nodded. “I was embarrassed.”

Niall looked at him, “So, about the other boys…”

“I told them to take care of you, because I couldn't because I was embarrassed then I was planning to go back next morning instead but I woke up sick.” Zayn said as he fumbled with his fingers.

“You could have told me you are sick you know.” Niall stared at the white curtains of the room, sunlight trying to pass the thick fabric

“You kissed me, why Zayn?” He blurted and suddenly regretted it because Zayn was looking at him, wide-eyed and the red on his olive skin was very visible. Maybe it was the effect of the question or maybe because he was sick, he couldn't tell.

Finally, Zayn sighed and said, “I don’t know.”

Startled, there was a knock on the door and both of them stare at each other, confusion at first then something beneath Zayn’s eyes was unreadable.

He looked away as Niall went for the door. Louis handed him a bowl of chicken soup and a box of tissues. He thanked the boy and Louis smacked him in the shoulder as a “go for it” which almost made him spill the soup. Louis shut the door for him and he came back for Zayn, looking at him, eyes brightened and smile appeared on his face as he noticed the liquid dish on Niall’s hands.

“Thank you.” Zayn muttered when Niall handed him the soup to him. Their fingers brushed, like the time when Zayn gave him the box of tissues. Though, this time, their fingers stayed, feeling the heat of the other and the bowl and it seemed like forever but it only lasted a second when Niall cleared his throat and drew back his hands.

Niall could feel the awkwardness and the heat inside his body all too much.

“Zayn.” Niall started and Zayn didn’t even remove his attention the food under his hands.

“Zayn.”

“Just a second, Niall.”

“Zayn.” He said loudly this time, making Zayn stop and finally— _finally_ —look at him, eyes in the color of hazel. He always liked Zayn’s eyes; it reminded him of autumn.  
Zayn sighed and set the bowl of soup down the nightstand, next to the box of tissues. He grabbed one pair from the box and quietly tried to blow his nose.

“Okay, Niall,” Zayn paused, closing his eyes and looked up, not looking at Niall but at the white wall from the other side of the room. “I’m sorry I kissed you. I just—I don’t know what happened. It’s—Niall please don’t let me do this, I’m not good with this kind of talk.”

He was now looking at him, hazel glazed with clear liquid—tears, Niall noticed. He didn’t know when but he began to tear up as well but he wiped it off immediately and he could see Zayn doing the same thing.

“I’m not gonna accuse you of something Zayn because that’s now why I came here. I came here because I just want to know why you did that?” He was now sitting on the opposite end of Zayn, like how Zayn sat on the day he got sick.

He wanted to tell him that the kiss was the most wonderful thing he ever experienced; more than concerts, more than the fans, more than his career, more than anything in the whole world, but he didn’t—he wanted Zayn to say something first before he made a fool of himself, expressing his feelings to him and everything. Zayn sighed again.

“It’s just—when Perrie and I broke up. I was sad but I was happy and I don’t know why, but you were there and I liked how you cuddle with me in the middle of the morning because I was upset and moping and I felt like dying but you were there.

“Then one day, it’s suddenly different. I didn't feel upset or sad and or any of that stuff; I was happy. And you were there, I looked at you and I got a different feeling about you. At first I brushed it aside because I thought to myself I was being ridiculous. Then, there were days I would look at you and I just want to hug you and kiss you and do other things with you. It was making me crazy. And then when we were at your room—when I was cleaning you up—I couldn't take it anymore. Without a sense of anything, I kissed you and—“

Out of nowhere, Niall kissed Zayn, it was soft, his lips on his then he backed away, wanting Zayn to speak or something. He didn't speak; instead, he kissed him _again,_ his lips moving fiercely and his tongue hungry for action.

“I wanted to do this for years.” Zayn said and Niall stopped his movements, pulling away again.

“Wait, your break up with Perrie happened like only months ago, what do you mean?” Niall said out of breathe. Zayn pulled him again, his lips desiring for another.

“Yes, but I wanted to kiss another boy since I discovered my attraction to them. I always thought you were hot though.” Zayn panted. “But I never felt this.”

Niall’s hands were moving, feeling all of Zayn. He’s hot with his tempered body but he didn't care, he didn't care he’s sick he just wanted Zayn. He’s now on top of Zayn, thighs weighing down Zayn’s hips. He hears Zayn moan and he smirks.

“Me too.”

Eventually the kiss broke, they were panting and catching for their breaths; it’s like how it was when he was a kid, after endless running and playing with the other kids on the park, he would gasp for a lungful of air. He missed those days. Though, he missed what had happened too.

He dived in for another kiss, feeling the chapped lips of the other boy under him. This time it’s just a chaste one, just wanting to feel Zayn’s lips against his. He didn’t want to tire the other boy, he’s sick after all.

Niall touched Zayn’s hair and it felt so familiar to him. Black suited him. He pushed the bangs of the bother boys, feeling the soft, black hair against his palm.  
“Your hair looks better pushed back.” Niall said and Zayn laughed and he also laughed. He remembered how those words—accompanied with the action—made him hot and flushed and feeling embarrassed. Now, it seemed so natural to say it aloud.

“How long?” Zayn asked suddenly and Niall was confused for a second before he caught on on the question.

“Like two years or something, you just got hot after X Factor, you know.” Niall said playfully, the boy still under him.

“I was always hot.” Zayn said and Niall rolled his eyes before he plunged for another kiss—long and passionate but firm. He felt like electricity was running through his veins.

“Yeah, you’re really hot right now.” Niall said, referring to his tempered body. He removed himself from Zayn and grabbed the bowl of soup from the table. He stirred it out of reflex as he scooped for a spoonful of the not-so-hot-but-now-moderately-warm soup. He brought the spoon in front of Zayn as the boy smiled at him and sipped in the warm liquid off the plastic utensil.

He reminisced the time when Zayn did this to him, making him eat the soup. He felt spring just bloomed in the pit of his stomach, butterflies dancing around, fluttering their colorful wings, mixing with the different hues of flowers. He was like in a field of paradise.

“As soon as I get better I’m gonna make you mine.” Zayn said after taking another spoonful. Niall laughed and left another chaste kiss and smirked.

“Not if I’m gonna make you mine first.”

**Author's Note:**

> i know the setting was ~ridiculous~ but let me know what you think below or on my [tumblr](fluffyhairniall.tumblr.com)


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